


Overtures

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Series: Valentine's Kisses 2018 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Iwa drinks his respecting women juice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: Kiyoko can't help but notice him sitting across the aisle every day, but she never imagines he'll say so much as a word to her — if he even remembers who she is. Surprise doesn't quite cover it when those words are finally exchanged, and she finds out Iwaizumi Hajime has looking at her just as long.





	Overtures

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in

Every day, Kiyoko sees him on the bus, and she’s pretty sure he doesn’t even know she exists. Though they had gone to different high schools, their homes seem to be relatively close together because of their respective stops, and Kiyoko’s brand new job lands her just a block away from Iwaizumi Hajime’s college campus.

She doubts he ever noticed her during the repeated battles between Karasuno and Aobajousai, but it had been hard _not_ to notice him. He carried himself with confidence she had envied, commanded respect from everyone on either side of the net, and had a ruggedly beautiful physique that he seemed not to notice.

So she had nursed a little crush a while back. That was then, this is now.

Now Kiyoko can’t help but notice the subtle changes in him as he builds himself up for college volleyball. His shoulders fill his t-shirts a little more, his muscles in his arms play visibly under his skin when he moves, and he always, _always_ sits alone.

However, a day comes soon when the bus fills up and she looks around desperate for a place to sit, and her eyes light on the other half of the bench next to Iwaizumi.

“Excuse me,” she almost-whispers, but he turns his attention to her despite her lack of volume. “Would you mind if I sat with you? Everywhere else is full.”

He stares at her for a long few seconds before springing into action and shoving his duffel bag onto the floor. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Didn’t realize it filled up so much.”

When Kiyoko sits, Iwaizumi budges up against the window, keeping a respectful amount of distance between himself and who he probably sees as a complete stranger. It takes half the journey before she finally blurts, “Are you still playing volleyball?”

Kiyoko wants to kick herself for asking a question she knows the answer to, but that thought empties from her head when he turns to her and stares for almost thirty seconds without a word, making her squirm in her seat. “Karasuno manager, right?” His brows knit. “I thought I recognized you.”

“You did?” Her eyes widened, and she adjusted her glasses with a nervous finger. “I thought no one noticed managers.”

Iwaizumi chortles. “Yeah, no. We were teenage boys. It’s hard not to look at the prettiest girl in the room.” His eyes bulge after that slips from his mouth, and he turns away red-faced while Kiyoko blinks in surprise at the seat back in front of her.

“Shimizu Kiyoko, by the way.” She slumps down in the seat, her weight held up by her knees digging into the back of the seat in front of her. “I work down the street from your college.”

He nods, even as his cheeks are still painted a merry shade of pink and his eyes are directed anywhere but at her. “Iwaizumi Hajime. And yeah, I still play.” He harrumphs. “I see you on here every day, and it’s been bugging me forever trying to figure out where I know you from. I didn’t ask so I didn’t come off as a creep or something. Girls probably don’t like that kind of thing.”

Kiyoko ramps up her courage and lightly touches the tight expanse of Iwaizumi’s bicep. “That’s very nice of you to think about. Most boys don’t —” She shivers at more than one memory of being cornered by strange guys demanding her name and phone number. “— they don’t care what we want.”

Iwaizumi considers her words, eyeing her carefully before he answers, “That’s a punkass way to go through life. A guy tries crap like that on you, knee him square in the balls. You look tall enough to land a pretty solid blow.”

She blanches and hides her face. “I don’t know if I can do that, but it’s sweet of you to think of it, Iwaizumi-kun.”

Their conversation is cut off by the bus’s arrival at her usual stop, and she shoots Iwaizumi an apologetic look. “Thanks for the seat, Iwaizumi-kun. It was nice talking to you.”

“See you tomorrow, Shimizu-san,” Iwaizumi promises, and her face tingles with a mix of embarrassment and something a lot different running underneath.

As promised, they see each other often, and even when the bus isn’t quite full, Iwaizumi will always budge up and offer her a space next to him. Their discussions move beyond stilted introductions to his course load and his displeasure over only watching from the stands until he gets his chance to start. She talks about her job, trying to make it sound less banal than it really is, but Iwaizumi seems to hang on every word.

It doesn’t take more than a month before she sits with him regardless of how many other passengers are on the bus.

One of these days, she finds him vibrating with excitement, and before she can ask, he explains, “I get to start tomorrow.”

Kiyoko grins. “That’s great, Iwaizumi-kun. You’re a very good player. I’m sure it won’t be the last time before the season is over.”

Iwaizumi’s face turns beet red and he hides his face in his knees, grumbling something she can’t quite make out before raising his head again. “Uh, Shimizu-san, I was wondering if, well —” He ducks his head and scratches at the nape of his neck. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into coming to the game, could I?”

She doesn’t have to think about it at all when she answers, “I’d love to.”

The din of a volleyball court is nothing new to her, but there is something more intense and electric about college level matches that reminds her of Karasuno’s trip to Nationals. She doesn’t think she could bear the pressure of performing on this stage, but Iwaizumi had only brimmed with anticipation over stepping onto this court and showing his team and everyone watching what she knows he can do.

He sees her up in the stands during warm-ups and gives her a cock-eyed smile, and Kiyoko’s belly clenches at the sight.

The game comes and goes fairly quickly, with Iwaizumi’s team winning in straight sets. According to the notes she takes throughout the match sheerly out of habit, Iwaizumi manages to rack up fifteen kills and four service aces in only two sets — an impressive margin for any player, let alone someone clawing to escape the bench.

Outside the gymnasium, she lingers where she spies the first handful of home team players trickling out of the building, hoping to see a certain spiky head of hair and the dopey smile underneath it. Soon enough, she spots her quarry and gives a shy little wave.

Grinning, Iwaizumi jogs over to her and steals her breath when he wraps his arms around her and spins her around. “God that felt so good,” he crowed, and Kiyoko can breathe at the sight of his pure joy. “I need to harass the stats guy. I played the game of my life and I kind of want to frame the score sheet just to prove to Oikawa I actually did it.”

Kiyoko gives him a sheepish smile and holds out the score sheet she had kept during the game. “Will this do?”

He eyes her somewhat sloppy handwriting over and over, his fingers tightening around the paper until he looks up with his jaw hanging slack. “This is  . . . I —”

Their eyes meet before Kiyoko’s gaze slides down to rest on his lips. His tongue darts out to trace their outline, and she shivers.

Iwaizumi’s fingers gently nudge underneath her chin until their faces are a mere breath apart, and she closes her eyes and parted her lips when she feels rather than sees him leaning closer.

The brush of his lips on hers is gone almost as quickly as it comes, and she glances at him nervously to see if she had done something wrong or completely misread the mood.

His expression is stormy and she fears the latter before she sees him tug on his own hair and growl, “Stupid, stupid Hajime.” Letting go of his death grip on his hair, he sighs and says, “Hey, I shouldn’t have done that. I tell you to watch out for guys who are creepy and gross, and I go and act creepy and gross like an asshole. Jesus, Shimizu-san, I’m —”

His rambled apology is pre-empted when Kiyoko cups his cheeks and tugs him down for a longer, far more substantial kiss. He gawks at her when she lets go of him, but his fingers come up to gently touch where her lips had been.

“If you’re worried about that, Iwaizumi-kun, I assure you it’s not a problem.” She leans up and gives him one last peck on the cheek. “I loved watching you play. I hope I can come again sometime.”

Iwaizumi’s hand covers his face where she had kissed him, and they’re both blushing. His entire mood shifts to one of awe as she latches her arm in his and tugs him toward the bus stop, and maybe toward something new and exciting for both of them.


End file.
